Lately, I’ve been traveling to the nearly treeless expanses of southeastern Oregon to visit Mom. She is living out her days with my youngest brother at his alfalfa farm. My brother and his wife have been heroic in their commitment to give her some vestige of a life. When I’m here, I usually wake in time to watch the fiery crown of the newborn sun dome above the eastern ridge, summer-baked and sharp as a bronze sword. The arid light lends clarity, dividing the living into watered and waterless. Edges sharpen. Brightness and shadow become unambiguous. People here are decisive, too. Indecision is sometimes as destructive as a wrong decision.
Your writing, Tom, so clear, so well-defined, took me there, on a meditative walk in the desert. Your open heart processing not only your loss, but your mom’s. You have a beautiful way of putting all of it in the context of the Whole of Life. I feel ‘dropped in to my own heart’ as I contemplate it. Thank you.
Your writing, Tom, so clear, so well-defined, took me there, on a meditative walk in the desert. Your open heart processing not only your loss, but your mom’s. You have a beautiful way of putting all of it in the context of the Whole of Life. I feel ‘dropped in to my own heart’ as I contemplate it. Thank you.
Beautiful. I felt as if I were walking the land with you and simultaneously holding my dad's hand.
It’s so personal, what you have written, Tom, and yet so universal as well. My Dad passed away this last Sunday, so your words really touched me. 🙏🏼
sending love …